Window
by ShaynainShambles
Summary: With Dean abondoning young Sam for another hunt after promising not to, Sam is left to dwell in the darkness of his houghts and dreams. Warnings: Angst, angsty!Sam


Word Prompt: Window

Warnings: Angst, angsty!Sam

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><p>Window<p>

A young Sam, no older than eight years old, pressed his face against the cool glass of the window in his and Dean's room at Bobby's.

Tearing hazel eyes stared longingly, disappointed through the fog and rain cascading down the clear pane, obstructing his view of his brother and dad leaving for yet another "unavoidable hunt," as his dad put it.

A sigh fell from Sam's lips as he remembered what his brother had told him, assured him, after his last hunt, when Dean had been away for almost a week without calling or anything, leaving Sam to be worried sick on his own in the motel in no-name, Nebraska.

"Next time, Sammy, either you'll come with us, or I'll stay with you. I promise ya, kid."

Another sigh escaped from Sam, clouding his view of the Impala's red taillights growing smaller in the distance.

He should have known; promises are not meant to be kept and truth does not exist; not when they are from a Winchester.

I promise we will save your son, Mrs. Smith.

He'll be in a better place, Mr. Moore.

I'm an F.B.I. agent, sir.

Sam should have known that what his older brother said would have been yet another lie. But he was hoping beyond hope that Dean would be different; that he would follow through with his promise. Choose him over Dad.

How stupid that thought had been.

"Dean always chooses Dad over me," Sam mumbled to himself, the pane of glass before him fogging up his vision completely as the last of the Impala's lights rounded the corner out of Singer's Salvage.

"I can't blame him, though," Sam thought sadly, "Why would he choose me over Dad. I'm just his boring kid brother; I'm just a responsibility. Something that Dean has to take over of. I'm not worth it. Not worth anything."

A single tear managed to escape from hazel orbs before small hands scrubbed roughly at his face to halt the ones that he knew would follow.

A pale forehead fell lightly against the glass, a thump echoing into the otherwise silent room. But Sam's thoughts screamed within him, whirling at miles per minute.

Why does Dean like Dad better?

Why does Dean not want to be with me?

Why can't I go with Dad and Dean?

What can I do to make Dean like me?

The thoughts continued and continued, until the running in his head and the disappointment clutching at his chest became too overwhelming and the only haven left was sleep. Or so he thought.

Sleep, rather than the dreamless enigma of white fog that he wished for, attacked as an animal destroyed its prey. The musings of daylight hours intensified beyond belief, making the darkness and shadows cloud his entire mind. Sam's thoughts began to destroy him from the inside out, leaving him a shaking, gasping shell of a creature pounding his head into the window, unconsciously trying to lessen the pain whirling within him.

The darkness sweltered around his complex mind until it took the form of the one who Sam wished least to see; the darkness solidified into a shadow of Dean. A representation of his perfect older brother, maniacally laughing as he shoved his younger brother into a cage below him before slamming it, letting metal on metal echo through the darkness, and locking the cage tight, leaving Sam screaming out, rattling the bars, the iron closing in so tight that movement became impossible.

Soon, the shouting began to tighten until only meager screeching emerged from Sam's throat, his hands beginning to wrap around it of their own accord, silencing him, as his brother turned his back on his younger brother.

As shadow-Dean took his first step away from Sam, a painful fire began to build in the screaming boy's heart, bursting forth further with each movement away until Sam could feel the fire singing his skin, starting from his stomach outward, blood beginning to pour from the wound. The screaming caught in Sam's throat began to shout louder and louder of its own accord until it could no longer be contained by the skin and muscle. The scream began to tear and claw at it until Sam, trapped, began coughing up blood. Yet, he could not stop; he needed Dean, his Dean. The scream trapped within him continued worsen, and Sam began to tear at his throat himself, hoping to let the scream escape, to bring Dean back, to make the comfort that is his brother return to him. But soon, the fire within his stomach and the tearing of his throat became too much. The blood cascaded down his entire being.

The pulsing in his ears quieted as Sam's body became lax; pale, bloody hands dropped from his throat, and the taut tension holding his lithe form upright in the cage broke and he fell forward onto himself, letting the trauma and pain leave his form through the cuts and burns and blood.

Sam's pulse quieted further; the only hint at life being the shallow, strangled breaths coursing through his body.

Within moments, the pulse had ceased completely; an eerie, unnatural silence sneaking through the cage of Sam's mind.

It was at that moment; however, that a startling slap echoed within metal bars.

Sam's pale body snapped to attention and glazed hazel eyes found a worried Bobby staring back at him.

"W-wha…" Sam trailed off, almost afraid to speak; to feel the blood and fire pouring from him.

"You fell asleep, ya idjit. Had me worried sick," Bobby comfortingly mumbled.

Hazel eyes widened as the fog of dreams fully lifted, but the terror clutching within him at Dean's abandonment failed to release.

Mumbling, "Sorry, Bobby."

Taking on his rare fatherly mode, Bobby sat on the edge of the bed on which he laid the younger Winchester.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," Sam tried to hide it, but orbs glossing with fresh tears gave him away. Yet, Bobby did not push. He knew Sam would talk when he was ready. So he put some water on the nightstand, ruffled his hair like he knew Dean would do, and left the boy, curled up with knees pressed to his chest, tears springing to the surface as he waited for the abandonment to cease once again with the onslaught of sleep.


End file.
